


grow old with me

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Dean's Birthday, Fluff, M/M, like honestly it's so schmoopy, you will get cavaties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean is, in Castiel’s opinion, equal parts beautiful and disgusting first thing in the morning."</p>
            </blockquote>





	grow old with me

Dean is, in Castiel's opinion, equal parts beautiful and disgusting first thing in the morning. 

Mostly Castiel likes morning-Dean. He's sleep-softened and warm, his hair mussed, pyjamas crumpled, pillow creases in his lightly-flushed cheeks. He's lazy and affectionate, wrapped around Castiel with octopus-like limbs. 

But other mornings--like right now, for instance--Castiel is woken by loud, grunting snores, a heavy, slightly sweaty weight pinning his left arm to the mattress, and tacky lips huffing stale morning breath across his clavicle. 

It's kind of gross. 

So Castiel sighs, presses a soft kiss to the top of Dean's head, and untangles himself until he can quietly slide out of bed. Dean shifts onto his stomach and sleeps on, undisturbed, and Castiel tugs on a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt before slipping from the room. 

Sam is already in the kitchen when he gets there, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He looks up when Castiel enters and crinkles his nose. " _Still_ with the hickeys? You're like a pair of teenagers."

Castiel presses his fingertips to the bruises on his neck and flushes, pleased. "It was Dean's idea," he comments mildly, en route to the coffee pot. 

Sam snorts. "Yeah, I'll bet."

They make small-talk as Castiel prepares some toast to take back to Dean. It's an activity he's got a lot better at, small-talk (although there's something to be said for the fact that his toast no longer comes out burnt, too), and he likes these morning conversations with Sam, when the bunker is still and quiet. 

On his way out of the kitchen, Castiel pauses and asks, "Do you have anything planned for today?"

Sam huffs and doesn't even look up from the paper. "You know Dean doesn't want a fuss, Cas, and he'll hate us if we try to make one. I bought pie, beer, and Game of Thrones season two."

Castiel hums in acknowledgement and leaves. When he gets back to their room, Dean is stirring and grumbling. It isn't until his flailing hand hits the empty space beside him that he cracks open sleep-crusted eyes. 

"Good morning," Castiel says, depositing the two mugs and carefully balanced plate on the nightstand. 

Dean grunts and buries his face in the pillow. Castiel thinks his grumpiness is because he woke up alone, but he doesn't say so because saying such things out loud usually sends Dean tailspinning. But still, he thinks it, and when he climbs back under the comforter and Dean tugs him close by the waist, he knows he's correct.

"Dean," he prompts, poking him on the shoulder, until Dean sighs and looks at him. 

"What, Cas?" 

"Happy birthday."

Dean blinks at him. "Damn, I was hoping you wouldn't remember."

Castiel feels a wash of something akin to disappointment. Not at the implication that he would forget, but the suggestion that he should have done. He's never had a birthday himself so he doesn't know what it's like, but he's been around humanity long enough now to know that it's supposed to be a day of celebration. 

"Sam says you don't want a fuss--"

"Damn straight."

"--but I have a gift for you anyway."

As Castiel reaches under the bed for his hiding place (aka the shoebox he keeps his special belongings in) another groan rumbles in Dean's throat. "Cas, dammit, I didn't want you to get me anything. You've done enough for me, and I--"

Castiel growls. "If you say you don't deserve it, I will hit you. I may not be an angel anymore, but I'm still a good fighter."

Slightly shamefaced, Dean lets the end of his sentence die on his lips. Rummaging through the box, Castiel pulls out the slip of paper he created last night. It's a little rough around the edges, literally, and the idea came from something he'd seen on television, but he holds it out to Dean with an apprehensive half-smile.

"Toast is going cold," Dean tries weakly, but when he's ignored he rolls his eyes and takes the gift. His eyes flick side to side and he chuckles as he reads Castiel's blocky handwriting. "I, Castiel, owe you, Dean Winchester, anything you want." He looks up, grinning. "That's pretty vague, Cas. The possibilities there are endless."

Shrugging, Castiel says, "I wasn't sure what you would like, and the staff at the store were extremely unhelpful."

Dean sighs again, but it's born of gentle exasperation rather than outright anger. He places a hand on Castiel's waist, rubbing a hip with his thumb. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate it. This is," he smiles down at the token, "well, it's actually pretty sweet of you. But I just feel like I have everything I want. The angels are gone, Crowley and Abaddon have taken it back to Hell, me and Sammy are... getting there. And you."

Cas smiles when Dean looks at him. "Cas, you picked me. You ripped out your grace and could have gone anywhere, but you chose me. God knows why, but I am grateful for it everyday."

That flush of warmth, of delight, so frequent around Dean, makes Castiel shiver. "Dean..."

They hold eye contact for a moment, before Dean waves the piece of paper between their faces. "Hey, can I cash this in for sexual favours?" he asks with a wink. 

Castiel surges forward and kisses him hard on the mouth, nipping his bottom lip before sweeping over it with his tongue. There's no easing into it; it's relentlessly hot and slack and demanding, until they're both moaning and Castiel has forced Dean's shoulders back to the bed. 

Laughing, eyes bright despite the heavy pupils, Dean says breathlessly, "I'll take that as a yes."

And he's lovely, so so lovely like this, that Castiel can't stop kissing him, over and over again. And it doesn't matter that sometimes Dean is gross in the mornings, not when it's him that Castiel gets to wake up to.


End file.
